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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22389463">New Meds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors'>rideswraptors</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gallavich Shorts [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Assorted Shameless character cameos, M/M, Post-Wedding, Shameless-esque triggers and related warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 18:36:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22389463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian gets a new doctor, so he's got new meds.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gallavich Shorts [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>435</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Why is Ian still in bed?"</p><p> </p><p>Mickey swung around to see Liam trotting into the kitchen, dressed for school and beelining for poptarts.</p><p> </p><p>"He's sick," Mickey informed him around a cigarette as he flipped a page in his magazine. </p><p> </p><p>"Ian never gets sick. And he didn't even move when I said bye. He always says bye and he never sleeps in."</p><p> </p><p>Fuck. Fucking logical motherfucker. Mickey dragged a hand down his face.</p><p> </p><p>"Nobody's talked to you about this?"</p><p> </p><p>"About what?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em> Christ </em>. Fucking--you know how your mom was a whackadoodle?"</p><p> </p><p>"Ye-ah?" Liam followed up, like Mickey was the dumb one. Why was Fiona not here for this shit? Or Lip? Or like...literally <em> anyone else </em> ? He was pretty fucking sure that he was <em> not </em> the authority on mental disorders. Or talking to kids. Not in his wheelhouse. There was really no pussyfooting around it.</p><p> </p><p>"Your brother's got the same thing."</p><p> </p><p>"What thing?"</p><p> </p><p>"Bipolar." Liam made an <em> oh </em> face, but then scrunched his expression up, brows pulling together. "Well you know how Ian's been running around like a psycho? Cleaning, jogging at hell o'clock, baking shit?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, that was weird."</p><p> </p><p>"He has to crash sometime. So he's crashed now."</p><p> </p><p>"Is he gonna be ok?"</p><p> </p><p>"Of course. Just has to sleep it off. Take his meds. He’ll be up nagging us to eat vegetables and shit in no time."</p><p> </p><p>"But...Debbie says that mom is like...really crazy…"</p><p> </p><p>Mickey rolled his eyes. "Bitch, she had Frank taking care of her. Ian's got me. He'll be fine, I promise."</p><p> </p><p>"You sure?"</p><p> </p><p>"Well if you see glitter anywhere or he starts talking about grandpa dick, you let me know."</p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>"Go to school, kid, learn something. I got your brother."</p><p> </p><p>"All right," Liam answered with a sigh, bumping his fist against Mickey's as he walked out the door. When the door was shut, Mickey slumped and took a long drag of the cigarette, tilting his head back. </p><p> </p><p>“Why aren’t you going to work?” came Carl’s voice as he came in through another entrance. Gallaghers, moving around quiet as cockroaches and just as annoying in the morning. </p><p> </p><p>“Ian’s sick.”</p><p> </p><p>The kid froze, eyes bugged out like you didn’t see much anymore. Mickey remembered when he was about half the height and scared of everything. Few years and six inches, not to mention a slew of criminal behaviors, had changed that. But those two words were enough to stop him cold. </p><p> </p><p>Mickey held up a hand to hopefully prevent a freak out. “He’s fine, man, just changed his meds.” </p><p> </p><p>“You sure?” </p><p> </p><p>“No, but he’s stable and I’ve got eyes on him.” Carl still hesitated. “Go to fucking work. If you get written up again, he’s gonna kick your ass and then he’ll kick my ass for letting it happen.”</p><p> </p><p>Carl smirked. “Thought you liked it when he--”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you,” Mickey interrupted. “Get the fuck outta here.” </p><p> </p><p>Carl grinned and snatched an apple off the table. “Fine. Text me when he wakes up.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’ll let you know when his highness graces us with his presence.” Carl swatted at him when Mickey tried to trip him on the way out, and he only just dodged the bitten into apple Carl chucked at his head. </p><p> </p><p>Mickey had gotten sick and tired of Ian’s doctor’s bullshit. He’d been randomly assigned some quack after he got released, and he was required to see the guy while he was on parole. In that time, the doc had sold Ian’s information, fucked up his prescription with someone else’s, cancelled appointments last minute, and was generally a douchebag. The second Ian’s parole was up, Mickey was on the hunt for somebody new. He would have gone for the best of the best, but that wasn’t in the stars money-wise, even if they did have fucking insurance now. (Look at me dad, fucking a dude and gettin’ my flu shot.) A bunch of research, phone calls, and long conversations with insurance people later, and Ian had a new, normal doctor who didn’t steal people’s identities or confuse his patients while high. But new doctor meant new meds, which meant an adjustment period. The first month was normal. Ian was more tired than usual, but that was manageable. It was only in the last week or so when he went through his manic phase, up and rowdy and unstoppable. It wasn’t nearly as scary as the first time, when they had no fucking clue what was happening, or after their wedding when his response was fucked because the meds were wrong. Down for the count Ian was actually a lot easier to manage than manic Ian. Mickey squirmed. And his ass could use a break, too. </p><p> </p><p> Debbie was walking in as Carl walked out. Mickey bitched at her for being out all night again, she bitched back. Franny was still asleep so no harm, no foul. Yet. Thank fucking god she didn’t ask about Ian because he was already sick of being the damn messenger. Woulda been worse if Fiona or Lip were still in the house. </p><p> </p><p>Mickey settled in, content to be in the kitchen while he waited. Ian could be out for half the day, the whole day, or maybe two. It was hard saying. Mickey had called off for the both of them today. He wasn’t going anywhere while Ian was practically comatose and the house was empty. Even if Terry was back in jail, he just didn’t trust it. And he didn’t trust Debbie to stick around long enough to take care of shit. </p><p> </p><p>Wasn’t until after 2:00 that Ian came thumping down the stairs, looking like hell and holding his head. </p><p> </p><p>“Look at that,” Mickey intoned, “Sleeping Beauty woke up.” </p><p> </p><p>Ian flipped him off and slumped into the chair next to him, his body collapsing against Mickey’s like he was the only thing holding him up. He rubbed his face against his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“How ya feel?” </p><p> </p><p>“Like shit. Dizzy.” </p><p> </p><p>“Food? Water?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, both.” Mickey kissed the side of his head and got up to get him water and fix him something to eat. Ian was a stubborn motherfucker on his low days. His whole body hated him and he hated it. Mickey loved both of them, so he forced them to play nice. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m gonna puke,” Ian muttered against the table when Mickey set his plate down. </p><p> </p><p>“You ain’t had food in over a day. S’gonna happen. Eat the damn sandwich.” </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Mick </em>--” he whined, reaching a hand out blindly. But Mickey swatted it away. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off. Eat or I’m never blowing you again.” Ian rolled his head to the side so he could smile at him, but Mickey lightly pushed at his face. “Don’t turn your Disney princess eyes on me, bitch.” </p><p> </p><p>Ian grumbled a little more but sat up and drank a few sips of water at least, picked at the sandwich. </p><p> </p><p>“You need to talk to your brother, by the way.” </p><p> </p><p>Ian sighed. “I’m not getting caught in another war between Sanitation and Security.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you, the black one.” </p><p> </p><p>Ian smiled and shook his head. It was a hard-won smile and Mickey reveled in his victory. It would be a few days before Ian was completely back to normal, and Mickey was so more than willing to do and say outrageous shit to get his mood back up. </p><p> </p><p>“He is 12. I think you can handle a problem with a 12-year-old.” </p><p> </p><p>“Not about me,” he said around a bite of his sandwich. “Boutcher bipolar.” Ian froze for a second, and he watched him contemplate that. Let it settle in. “He was freaked cause you didn’t wake up this morning.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Apparently, they didn’t tell’im nothin’ last time.” </p><p> </p><p>“He was a baby.” </p><p> </p><p>“Still.” </p><p> </p><p>“What did you tell him?” Ian asked quietly. Mickey reached out to touch him, just to ground himself.</p><p> </p><p>“The truth. Short version. He’s gonna have some questions.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure,” Ian snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey fuck you, it was before coffee,” he laughed, pushing at him a bit. Ian leaned more heavily into him again, letting his eyes drift shut. Mickey just wrapped an arm around him and pressed his face into his hair. Kid needed a shower, but it was nowhere near as bad as that first time. </p><p> </p><p>“It’ll pass,” Mickey whispered, believing the words more than he used to. </p><p> </p><p>“I know,” he nodded, “I know.” Ian cleared his throat. “I’ll talk to Liam. Thanks for--”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up.” Mickey smacked another kiss to his head. “Eat.” </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A lovely reader requested that I follow up with Ian's conversation with Liam. Couldn't resist.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Why are you buying me ice cream again?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What? You love ice cream."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah but it's like 40 degrees out."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"When has that ever stopped you from a sugar high?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Never but you're being squirrely and weird and Mickey said if you acted weird I have to tell him."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>--"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, he actually said to tell him if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>pussied out like the chickenshit bitch </span>
  </em>
  <span>you are…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That sounds about right."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But I just made an intuitive leap." Liam dug into his sundae. "And Miss Kovic said I sound like Carl when I cuss, so…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay, so it gets kinda </span>
  <em>
    <span>crowded </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the house, and I figured this would give us some privacy. To talk."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I have straight As. None of my friends do drugs. I don't drink, smoke, or carry a shiv…" Ian held up a hand, but he kept going. "I don't have an interest in girls yet. I haven't ruled out boys, but I'm not in any rush. My teachers all say I'm respectful. I'm not bullying or getting bullied. I'm black and educating myself." He shrugged. "I don't know what there is to talk about."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian laughed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew this wasn't going to be easy, but it definitely needed to be done. Unfortunately, Liam was just a lot smarter than the rest of them. Combined, probably. And Ian wanted to do this right. He wanted to do one thing the right way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Kid, you are...practically perfect which is a major miracle after everything. It's not about you, though." Liam frowned. "Mick told me you guys had a chat a few weeks back? When I wasn't feeling so good?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Liam slumped, twisting his spoon in the bowl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm not upset. All right? You deserve to know, I just…" He sighed and clasped his hands near his mouth. "I thought someone already told you. And while Mickey's good at taking care of me, he's not always so good at explaining things."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Liam lifted his brows. "No kidding."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So if you have questions, I just want you to know that I'll answer them. Okay?" He nodded. "It's important for you to know. Bipolar disorder is genetic, and since I got it from Monica--"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The rest of us could have it too."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian spread his hands, eyes stinging. "Maybe. Yeah."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Liam took a visibly deep breath and considered that for a while. It was quite possibly the longest couple of minutes of Ian's life. He didn't want to scare the kid, but he had a right to know what could happen. What had already happened. He had a right to know what kept their mom so far away from them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I did some research…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian blew out an unsteady chuckle. Of course, he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And it sounds like it's manageable. As long as you take medication and have a good doctor."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," Ian croaked, dropping his hands to the table, clenched tight. "Yeah, I can have months and months of good days."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But they can go bad."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A tear slipped at that. "Yep. Sometimes without much warning. It's a chemical imbalance in my brain. Sometimes they adjust to the meds I'm taking and it doesn't work anymore."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Like it's immune," Liam whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorta. Just means we change my medication. Sometimes it works right away, sometimes it doesn't."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Does the medicine make you feel bad?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not anymore," he insisted, hand flattening. "At the beginning, yeah, it made me really sick and I couldn't feel anything, but with the right meds at the right dose, I feel pretty normal."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"When you're...not yourself...do you know who we are?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian froze. Totally froze up, his stomach bottoming out. No one had ever asked him that. Maybe no one had ever thought to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes. Now I do. There were times when I was manic...when I was really up and...high when I didn't always know what was going on."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You do?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Liam nodded. "You called me a different name once when I was little. It really scared me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Liam, I'm--"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Everybody tries to keep stuff from me because I'm the youngest. Everybody lies to me about what's going on, like I'm stupid or I don't care."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We don't think that."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But you do it. All the time. I know when stuff is going on. Nobody in our family is quiet."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"True."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I remember when Mickey escaped from jail and when you took off with him."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Really?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. You came back really sad. And I know you missed him because you trashed the crap out of him to Lip whenever he came up." Ian felt his face crack at that, but he couldn't quite muster a response. "And I knew you took medicine, and that sometimes you didn't feel good, but I thought you had like some kind of auto-immune disease."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is that why you always want me to drink green tea?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It has solid anti-inflammatory properties, you drink way too much beer and sodium is not good for swelling."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian laughed through his nose, hanging his head at how stupid they'd all been. He knew what it was like for people not to notice you until your life was falling apart. He knew what it meant when you got lost in the shuffle of family drama. He'd never wanted that for Liam, but it seemed to happen anyway. Liam reached across the table and put a hand on his arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're my brother, and I Iove you, so I want to know when you're not okay. Even if it's just gross stuff with Mickey."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian laughed through the tears sliding out the corners of his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Even then huh?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Liam grimaced but nodded. "Even then. Cause bipolar disorder is for life. And Debbie and Carl are cool, but they're really self-absorbed. And Lip…" He trailed off for emphasis, and Ian nodded, dropping a hand on top of his. "I want to help. I wanna know what's going on in case Mickey needs some extra hands. He knows how to take good care of you, but he shouldn't have to do it alone all the time."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Liam, you're just a kid."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You guys were just kids and had to help take care of me. I can help."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian pulled his lips in and clasped the boy's hand tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're great, you know that?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes. I do." Ian chuckled. "Now eat your ice cream. Mickey said I have to ruin your dinner or sleep in a dumpster tonight."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian sighed, brows furrowed. "I married a weirdo."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Liam nodded matter of factly. "Pretty much." He shrugged. "I like him though."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Me too."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian and Liam did end up ruining their dinner, and Mickey looked way too pleased with himself about it. They ended up with pizza in the living room, watching some show Franny was obsessed with. Andy-something. Ian was barely paying attention because he had his head in Mickey's lap and his fingers scratching his scalp. He was practically purring from the attention, even if his husband was tuned into the show. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Debbie was home for once, but Carl was out. Liam had the big chair, and Franny was on a big pile of blankets. Both of the kids were actually asleep. Things were...quiet. And it was a bit weird, but Ian was too relaxed to question it. He rolled around to snuggle into Mickey's belly, inhaling that smell he loved. When Mickey scratched at his eyebrow, Ian tilted back to look up at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His husband had that soft look on his face, the one he used to have only when he thought Ian wasn't looking. He remembered when they were kids and Mickey would watch him, the way he moved, how he got a little doe-eyed when he listened to Ian talk. How he looked at him right after he'd come out and they were on top of the world and stupid in love. His eyes were just so goddamn blue and shiny. Ian nuzzled into his shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You good?" Mickey murmured, cupping the back of Ian's head, his thumb stroking over the edge of his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh-hmmm."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Skin's cleared up." Ian nodded at that too. He knew Mickey wanted to ask how the talk had gone. He also knew Mickey would eat his own hand before asking, since they had been bickering about his mother hen tendencies. He'd throw himself all in, no breaks, no boundaries, and worry himself sick. Ian hated feeling like a burden, and he hated watching Mickey stress, and he hated being the cause of Mickey's stress. Bickering was inevitable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Love you," he whispered so quietly Ian couldn't hear him. Ian nodded again and pressed a kiss to his stomach. He let the feeling of Mickey's breathing, the brush of his fingers in his hair, lull him to sleep. He'd tell him about it in the morning. He'd tell him how different things were now. How he recognized support for what it was, and that they needed to protect Liam for just a little longer so he could be a kid for a minute. He'd tell him that he loved him, that he wouldn't have gotten here without him, that they were all better for having Mickey in their lives. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ian's therapist once told him they were co-dependent. That Mickey treated Ian like he was the sun in his own solar system. That he operated as if everything revolved around him. She'd said it wasn't healthy, that boundaries were important. Maybe she was right. Maybe Mickey didn't need to set alarms for Ian's meds. Maybe he didn't need to research every possible side effect. Maybe he didn't need to worry about Liam's well being or the fact that Debbie was hooking up with Sandy and...hooking. Maybe he didn't need to notice how every little thing affected Ian throughout the day, track his moods or eating habits.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she didn't get it. How could she? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Ian was the sun, then Mickey was every planet and moon and all the stars in the sky. Ian was just doing his best to keep him close. To pull him in and not let go. It was a challenge, being the center of someone's focus. To be the reason for everything. So yeah, maybe Mickey always had his eyes on him, tracked him, operated as if Ian was a constant and not a variable. But it was Ian's job to keep him warm, to give him focus, to keep him coming back home. He always did. And Ian was always waiting for him to circle back. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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